


First dates and Flowers

by Idontwannahittheground



Category: RWBY
Genre: First Dates, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Light Angst, M/M, minor background characters - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:08:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21742729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Idontwannahittheground/pseuds/Idontwannahittheground
Summary: Clover asks Qrow out on a date. This is a terrible idea but Qrow isn’t going to be the one who tells him that.
Relationships: Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi
Comments: 4
Kudos: 92





	First dates and Flowers

Atlas isn’t boring, or dull.

That needs to be established, it isn’t Atlas that has Qrow rolling his eyes so often there starting to feel tired. He hasn’t wanted to roll his eyes this often since he was fifteen for crying out loud, It’s mostly Clover that causes it, him and his boundless endless energy, sometimes he reminds Qrow of Ruby, the endless smile. 

But Ruby doesn’t believe in luck, not since she heard that all of his was bad. So more like a young impressionist male Ruby with a fundamentally different belief system. Who also doesn’t have anything in common with his niece whatsoever. Qrow doesn’t admit even in the darkest mines of Atlas that Clover reminds him of a younger stupider version of himself.

The only thing that Clover isn’t responsible for is the burning pain in his side, the cold brings back old aches he had successfully drunken into oblivion. Or maybe the sobriety was bringing it back. Either way not Atlas fault. But also not Clovers fault, probably, in a moment of silent clarity one moment early in the morning he decides that its Salem’s fault and puts it on her tally, he doesn’t want to point any fingers but her tally is starting to look pretty long.

He likes to think about that instead of the list of things he doesn’t think about.

On the list of things he doesn’t think about, he doesn’t think about how Clover is moderately attractive.  
Just a little. It’s bad for his long term health to think in general, he’s more of a reaction kind of guy anyway.

He takes pride in his reaction time, has too when it keeps him alive better than plans that are guaranteed to go south. But when Clover asks him to go to a bar with him he finds his reaction time is slow. Achingly slow. Because in that first moment he wants to say no. Clover bothers him everything he doesn’t like about Atlas is actually Clovers fault after all, and the young incredibly lucky, actually no, scratch that ‘stupidly lucky’ man forced him to think about all the fundamentally broken things about himself that he would rather ignore and the depressing weight of the burden he dropped on all his loved ones for just being around him.  
And more importantly he doesn’t drink alcohol. As much. Anymore. When he can.  
Tries not too.

Going to a bar is a bad idea.

But the thing that really makes the denial freeze on his lips is the sudden shifting in Clovers weight, the nervous darting of his eyes. It takes a second as Qrow’s muddled brain makes sense of what it’s seeing.  
“Like a date?” The words aren’t serious, almost mocking. Because really Qrow has used a mirror lately and he’s feeling particularly sweaty and greasy today, and he doesn’t admit that Clover is attractive, but it’s easy to think that Qrow probably isn’t attractive enough. Not for someone like that. He waits a moment for the stuttered laugh, for the genuine assurance that this is totally not a date, just two bro’s hanging out and having a beer.

Clover doesn’t say no. Doesn’t say anything. And the silence speaks volumes.

Interesting.

He’s a reaction kind of guy, and his gut reaction is apparently to shrug his shoulders and say “Ok.”

In an instant the bubbling almost too happy, too lucky, Clover is back babbling about there ‘date’. Qrow feels a moment of instant regret and wishes he had said no.

Mostly because dating him is a really bad idea, a monumentally stupid idea considering that the nicest date he can remember having was when he was in Beacon. Her chair broke when she sat down and in an attempt to keep any gossip about his uncontrollable semblance to a minimum he had implied it was because she was fat.

To be fair though she only liked the idea of dressing him up in skirts and dresses apparently. So he didn’t even feel bad about calling her fat.

He almost cancels. It wouldn’t even be hard he could just not go. In fact he probably shouldn’t go. Clover smiles, wide and happy. Clover was happy, he didn’t need bad luck biting at his heels.

He’s so determined not to go he manages to train against simulated robot enemies who use him as a rag doll the entire day he’s supposed to get ready for his date.

And he won’t look at his communicator, he doesn’t care if Clover calls once, or a thousand times. Or not at all. Because he has no clue what’s happening outside this room.

And he trains and he sweats and he gets sent through a pillar of almost real but not quite real wall.  
And when he checks his Com hours after there’s anything he can possibly do about it, two things immediately stand out.

First, Clover hasn’t called him.  
Second, it’s not as late as he thought it was and if he leaves right now he might actually make it on time.

Just his luck really.

—-  
He gets to the bar first, a swanky upper Class bar where the waitress pulls him to a private reserved seat when she hears his name.  
And gives him a single raised eyebrow when he mutters that he only wants water.

It’s not Atlas that has him fighting a grimace and pulling at the edges of his cape it’s Clover and his stupid date and his stupid bar.

“Your looking good.” Qrow doesn’t jump, years of being in danger has dulled his senses from a sword to a butter knife. If he dies in a bar at least he probably had a good night. His only response is to tip his head towards Clover as the other man slides gracefully into his seat.

Clover eyes him, a once over that brings back the annoying itch in his side, “You look amazing.”

“No I don’t.”

Clover startles his smile frozen Qrow can visibly see the way his brain catches up sees him tense before he tries again.  
“It’s just you really dressed up.”

“I really didn’t.” There’s a patch of drying blood from where he had gotten particularly unlucky that morning he probably smells like melting Grimm and bullet shells. 

And he hates stupid bar lines. 

Clover is still smiling. “Want a drink?”  
And Qrow hates him a little more.

“I don’t drink.” He returns,

Clover raises one skeptical eyebrow.

“Often.” Qrow finishes.

That eternal smile dims a little bit, a touch of frustrated confusion in the corner of his eyes as his hand signals the waitress over. Qrow wishes he felt smug about it instead of an awful kind of guilty.  
“If you would prefer vodka?” Clover ventures quietly.

“No.”

Clover nods slowly.  
The waitress knows him, because of course she does, and Qrow doesn’t hate Atlas for the fact that it’s hunters are all regulars and that the city adores them, it’s Clover and his smug good looks and the way he came here to be with Qrow but he’s still laughing and chatting with her instead.  
Qrow bitterly pulls the glass of water to his chest. 

It takes forever for her to go and when she does Clover looks at him with his smile just as bright as when they started. The acknowledgment makes his chest ease up, Clover is starting over, which means he has another chance to not completely screw this up.

“Your scythe,” Clover stats confidently after a moment “is incredible a hard weapon to master I’m sure.”

Qrow waits a second, lets his hand tap the smooth table, he can try.  
“I guess.”

A moment of surprise as if Clover didn’t even expect to get that much out of him. He leans over the table, cocky and confident his hands pillowing his head.  
“Don’t be so modest, I wonder what else your hands are good for.”

Flirting was good, Qrow could flirt. He could and probably had hooked up at the back of every semi respectable bar around Beacon. Flirting was fine. But he could do better, a shred of honesty.  
“I styled the weapon after my greatest idol.” 

“Oh,” a genuine surprise, “your greatest idol, tell me about it?” Clover was excited, his eyes shining like he couldn’t believe Qrow had volunteered something, anything to there conversation.

Behind him the waitress is hurrying back, she has a glass of beer and a tray pilled high with cups. Qrow watches and counts, waiting. Best case scenario in some magical flinging tray accident she dumps old cups and alcohol all over him, it sucks and he smells like a dumpster but Clover thinks it’s funny and goes on another date, worst case she dumps them on Clover and he hates Qrow forever.  
The fact that she’s heading straight for Clover with a determined grin makes him think worst case scenario it might even hurt him, but years of experience has taught Qrow to accept the inevitable. And roll with disappointment.

The waitress stops and with an expertly rolled wrist deposits Clovers beer smoothly. There’s no crash not even when she asks Qrow if he’s sure he just wants water, he’s left to stare dumbly after her as nothing bad happens at all. In the silence of her absence Qrow remembers he was supposed to be answering a question.

“A bitter old hag.”  
Qrow watches the light in those eyes die.

“Oh.” Disappointed. Clover frowns down at his beer. And in that instant the beer is the only thing that matters because this is awful. Flirting was supposed to be fun.

“Are you gonna drink that?” He asks before he can think it through. He’s a reaction guy.

“I thought, you didnt drink?” Clover is passing over the bottle a relieved kind of half smile, Qrow doesn’t care what he thinks, he needs that’s beer yesterday.

“I don’t drink often.” Clover actually laughs, that’s good.

He knocks the entire drink back with a practiced ease, too much ease because he sees the recognition in green eyes when he lowers the now empty bottle to the table.  
Clover didn’t know he was a drunk.

A bitter feeling grows and contrasts in his stomach.

“I’m cutting back.” He doesn’t want to care what Clover thinks. But the weight of those green eyes feels like there pinning him down.

“That’s good.” Clover’s voice is always going somewhere like his sentence is heading someplace warm. Qrow likes to listen to him talk sometimes, because it sounds like he’s taking you somewhere warm, someplace worth going.  
Now he sounds carefully neutral the inflection in his voice dead.

“Yeah I bet.” He wants another beer.

“You are doing good.” The monotone voice grates on Qrow more than his eyes do.

“Thanks so much for noticing.” The waitress is on the other side of the room.

“Your welcome.” He didn’t know Clover could sound both snide and uninterested before, Qrow is almost impressed with himself but years of practice have taught him that you can never be too surprised at the ways he can thoroughly destroy the bridges he’s built. 

The desire to raise his hand for a drink, a real strong drink courses through him so strongly that his hand hovers in mid air, just a touch away from lifting up to signal the waitress back to there table. 

Clover watches his hand silently. 

“I need to use the can.” A poor excuse but he can’t stand the table any more, and the stupid way there knees brush together and the fact that he is 100% sober on a date for the first time in his life and it’s going worse than any other date he’s ever had.

The bathroom isn’t a private stall there’s people coming in and out giving the weird greasy guy pacing back and forth in front of the mirror a wide berth. 

He doesn’t care. 

None of there eyes are green. None of them smile and laugh like there untouchable but actually mean it. None of them are Clover. And the significance of that makes Qrow feel just a little bit more like throwing up. 

The pacing stops after a minute, the same way the pain in his side always fades eventually. Qrow wants to take a minute to fix his hair, or maybe make himself look less like he died only a few hours ago.  
But time is a nebulous concept when your freaking out and he honestly has no clue how long he’s left Clover waiting.

When he gets back to the table Clover is gone. Which, yes of course, that makes sense. This date had gone horribly. Beyond horribly. And now the only thing he could do was hope that Clover still worked with him in an official capacity because the last thing he needed was to shove the guy with good luck powers away from Ruby and Yang.

They needed good luck, they needed a chance to make things better. They didn’t need him dragging them down.

Qrow carefully avoids the smooth bar counter top on his way to the door. He wants a beer, or vodka, or rum. Anything that can dull his edges just enough for him to make a joke out of this.  
In the war between bad luck and good, bad luck wins. Ha.  
So easy to laugh with a bottle in his hands and his ability to think about the future shot too hell.

He walks as far away from the bar as he can.

Knowing his own unfortunate luck meant he probably only had a few hours before Winter got wind of there disaster of a date and managed to make his life more miserable than before. Dealing with her was a lot less fun when he was sober.

The door is in front of him in record time as he runs a hand through his hair. Simple, smooth, it is funny. Somehow he can laugh about this, maybe in ten years when he’s bleeding out on a battlefield he’ll remember the time when he thought a date with Clover was the worst moment of his life and he’ll get a good long laugh out of it.

Yeah.

His hand is on the doorknob when a familiar voice stops him.  
“Most people sneak out the bathroom window.”

Qrow turns and stares “Your still here?”

Clover shrugs, his unfailing smile much smaller, more restrained than normal.  
“I shouldn’t have picked a bar.”

“It’s fine.”

Clover furrows his brow, “No it’s not.”

Qrow shrugs to that, in part because there standing in the doorway and a couple just yanked open the door and is now cautiously skirting around the two of them. And partially because he doesn’t know what to say. 

Clover shifts on his feet “Let’s go for a walk.” 

“Ok.”

The wind is colder than Qrow remembers, and he shoves his hands deep in his pockets.  
They don’t seem to be heading anywhere in particular, Qrow hasn’t learned these streets yet and Clover seems to be walking around aimlessly with no purpose, there not talking and Qrow is a half step behind him, from far away it might look like there walking together.  
Maybe.  
Qrow isn’t going to ask.

Clover stops as suddenly as he started, there’s nothing particularly interesting about this street. Just an alley in the city.  
“Do you like Atlas?” He asks,

“It’s fine.”

Clover makes a frustrated sound in his throat. And he is a reflex guy he acts before he thinks and acts before the consequences of his first action can stop him from making another.

“I’m sorry.” He offers up.

Clover spins around his hair falling out of its styling, “What are you sorry for?”

There’s an edge of genuine desperation to his voice, like he really doesn’t know. Qrow watches his breath crystallize into the air before he laughs.  
“I’m bad luck.”

It’s more of an answer than anyone needs to hear, it’s the only answer he’s ever needed to give.

“I’m good luck.” 

Apparently Clover needs more.  
“I’m bad luck, really bad luck. I mean the bar didn’t catch fire, and no one died. So the date wasn’t a complete failure.”

Clover glares at him his mouth opening and closing, his cheeks are a healthy shade of pink and his loose hair isn’t entirely unattractive.  
Qrow changed his mind sometime when they were walking, this was far from his worst date, but now out here on the street as his breath blows away. Qrow thinks this might be the nicest date he’s ever been on.

Not the best hookup.

But the best date.

“But I’m good luck.” Clover repeats, his voice trapped in a half whisper.

Best date for Qrow probably equaled worst date for Clover. Possibly ever. And yeah there was that awful burn on his side again followed by the crushing guilt of a life time of disappointments. 

“I’m sorry.” He repeats. “We don’t need to do this again.”

Clover stares at him, mouth opening and closing. He doesn’t say anything as he walks away. Doesn’t call out to him as his feet punch through fragile layers of snow. And he doesn’t give Qrow any directions back to Headquarters. 

It’s still the best date he’s ever had.

He takes a long hot shower when he gets back. And is only half surprised to see Yang sitting next to his bed when he comes back. He stares at her for a silent moment.

“This door was locked.”  
He smiles at her and watches as she smiles back. Nothing but pride for his nieces even when there breaking into his room and butting into his life. 

“Wanna talk?”  
She offers it once.

“No.”

She nods accepting it, when she leaves the room she places one strong arm on his shoulder before disappearing out of sight. Sometimes Qrow forgets that he used to look out for her. All of the time he’s proud that Tai raised them. That he got to watch even if it was from a distance. That will always be his one bit of good luck. And he just didn’t have any more good luck left in him.

There’s a quiet soft knock on the door.

Qrow frowns before pulling his scythe into his hand, just out of sight of the door. Yang wouldn’t knock she would pound. Ruby didn’t knock she cried and asked to be let in. And Ironwood was a slightly obsessive control freak who probably had cameras in his room and therefore also wouldn’t knock. 

The door opens,  
Apparently Clover knocks.

And buys flowers based on the bouquet that’s shoved into his hands. The dull clang of steel slamming into the ground as he drops his scythe to hold onto an array of flowers and stares up at wide green eyes.

“I brought you flowers.” Clover waves his hand in a vague ta-da motion as if Qrow had somehow missed the flowers before this.

“I see that.”  
They both stand there quietly.

“Do you like them?” Clover isn’t smiling and Qrow doesn’t know what’s happening.

He stares down at the flowers they look, alive. Which is the most anyone has ever asked him to do with flowers before in his life.  
“There fine, I guess.” 

Clover frowns.  
“You don’t like them.” He says it like a challenge like he’s mad that his flowers aren’t perfect.

“I said there fine.”

“But do you like them?” 

“There flowers.”

Clover makes another low annoyed sound. “If you don’t like them I’ll take them back in for another kind.”

“No, there already mine.”

“Don’t you want something better?”

“Why don’t you mind your own business?” 

For a moment it almost look like Clover intends to wrestle the flowers away from him, and he leans back ready for a fight. He’s better at fighting than flirting even if it’s not as fun.

Clover settles back away from him.

“I came to apologize about tonight.” Clover tells him, “it didn’t go. It wasn’t supposed to be like that.” 

Qrow strangles the whiny voice inside him that says it nows that. The one that wants to point out that Qrow is aware he’s a failure he doesn’t need to be wined and dined if all he gets is insulted by an unusually attractive huntsman, he has Winter for that and she does it free.

“It won’t happen again.” Qrow tells him honestly and the look of pure relief on Clovers face almost makes him slam the door on his foot. Only almost because he’s aware that the date did objectively suck, and it was probably his fault even if he hadn’t worked out how yet.

“So you’ll pick where we go for the next date?” Clover asks hopefully.

He reacts well before he thinks, “yes.”

Clover nods satisfied, “Enjoy your... flowers.” He nods again and then stiffly marches down the hall.

Flowers.

Vaguely he remembers hearing that you put flowers in a vase. 

He doesn’t have one.

He puts them on the counter and stares at the wall the rest of the night. 

Date number two can’t possibly be worse than date number one.

Date number one while awful was probably the best in his long life. 

Somehow that was probably depressing to most people even if the only thing he felt was a cautious excitement. After all it could only go uphill from here.

**Author's Note:**

> I really want to do a chapter from Clovers point of view. I really like angst couples and I’m apparently liking these couples. I have many many feels. 
> 
> Here’s to hoping they don’t die.


End file.
